Secrets.

From my utility window I see them. The first owl butterflying upwards in the farm yard lights. It almost glows as it twists and its brilliant underside catches the light. A second is following flying lower and more direct. I lean on the worktop and watch. The second bird alights on the shed roof apex. I can imagine its face, those intent eyes, that indignant expression cocooned in a heart shaped ruff, the turn of the head and its upright stance. They are back.

I know that I will not be privileged to watch them in the numbers that waited for me during January. Those times will reoccur but for now I am content to see two or three each evening. As I walk and whistle one reassuringly flies above me and continues ahead of me to wait in the trees by the house. I am not sure why it is so incredibly satisfying to have this happen each evening but there is something in the consistency of its behaviour that sits well with me. Tonight there were three waiting tolerantly together for the food they know I will bring. I talk to them, pan the torch low and walk rapidly away. They have their secrets to keep.

I know, from previous years owl watching that the females are at the nest boxes. I have seen our very light male return with food to the shed. One evening recently I asked Rob to escort me. Our farm had seen hare coursers and  I wanted back up. When the owls heard his deep voice two absconded from east nest box. This pair sit tight for me but that evening their secret was laid bare. Intriguingly, I often see three owls and another one waits at west nest box. Do we still have autumn owlets visiting if not who can these other birds be if our females are now sitting on eggs?

Sam is now home and walked down with me on his first evening back. We waited on a straw bale with grand views of the shed and east nest box to see if we could glean any more information. Immediately one flew to the rafters, a fine vantage point, before choosing its food. Within seconds it had seen us. Despite the gloom we both knew it was glaring at us, unflinching and furious at our very presence. We sat motionless, not daring to move, every muscle taut, breathing low and steady, both waiting for that screech which would penetrate to our very core. For some reason it didn't come but that indignant stare continued.

Suddenly from the east two owls flew in. The first was obviously the shed male as it expertly darted in the gap at the top of the door. Its pursuer flew into the dutch barn and unintentionally directly above us, shrieking and whirring as it went. Whether it saw us or whether its rage was directed at the first owl I am unsure. Although I have rarely felt threatened by the owls this encounter was as nerve wracking as they come. We knew we would gain little more by staying and headed home.

They continue to wait, two, three, sometimes four of them, still they guard their secrets well. But watching closely means I am a little concerned about the hostility between the two pairs. During 2018 the owls that shared the farm showed a familiarity with each other that was remarkable and there was little territorial posturing. We then lost our original male bird from 2014 and the younger male took on both females for the summer of 2019. When his first mate died it left us only one pair yet by autumn we had two broods of owlets. It became evident that  a totally new pair had moved in. As we move ever closer to young owls once more I am watching avidly yet anxiously that all remains well.